Glass smilies

... that's because smilies was 2 days ago.

... I dunno, I have a funny feeling that memory is pretty much burnt in...

*****
I remember looking through the looking glass as she traced smilies on the surface; i remember the little smile on her face, and the way her hair was pulled back, and that look in her eyes, which words will never, ever be able to capture. I remember the way she glowed.

I remember catching myself smiling that same smile as I reached out and drew in a blob of a nose.

Yeah, that memory is pretty much burnt in.

A play with words

... we shall play tomorrow

*****
And then it strikes me what makes the assassin so lethal to myself.

She plays - we play - with words, with thoughts, with language, with situations as they crop up... and it's so easy to just laugh, or to smile...

... and then we lean in, and the play stops...

*****
... after all, a play without words is a mime.

... == Learn the Words ==

In good company

I remember disagreeing with a friend once upon a very long time ago, seated in a very small chair in her South Kensington apartment that activities were less important than the company you kept.

She, the pint-sized energizer/stress bunny, hard drinking, party-animal with the minuiture furniture and tatami mat (presumably because she was already so near the ground when standing up that lying on a mat made sense) asserted that it was all about doing exciting stuff; nevermind who tagged along. (We travelled in packs in those days, it just wasn't the done thing to go on dive trips or ski trips alone.)

I remembered a then not-so-distant time when lunch / dinner conversation, or just talking on the telephone could be... just about magical, and maintained that in the right company it didn't really matter what you did, at all, and only that you did it together. To my mind it extended beyond romantic love between partners, even to agape love between friends. Company outweighed activity.

Time passed and the years came and went, and with each new relationship / parting it seems a part of me weathered away; with the last ex it became apparent that activities were extremely, extremely important; up to the moment of... near / indiscretion - confessed from her own mouth to have stemmed from boredom.

Through the looking glass, and out the other side - suddenly activities were far more important than company alone; it only seemed natural that the only way two people could endure the mundanity of everyday was an expensive getaway somewhere exotic once in a while, or an out-of-this-world special activity of some form... some form of spice to liven up life; otherwise everything becomes mundane, no? As comfortable as it is to rush home and die in someone's arms, or to go out to all those shops every so often and buy girly stuff, or to watch the odd movie, or the odd meal... it isn't enough. I lamented what all us foreign returnees constantly harp on about : there's nothing to do or see here, in Singapore, except eat, shop and... eat.

And then this past week, just lying with her head on your chest listening to her speak, or sitting across from her watching her eyes sparkling as we eat, that random argument from another lifetime comes back to mind, and something strange seems to have happened to time.

Fallen

You look pensive, she says.

He looks into her eyes, and silently traces the arch of her brow, the curve of her face, that small half-smile of hers with his gaze; then smiles and says but that's just the way my face falls...

*****
When he was young, he used to dream of falling; just falling through space, with the wind in his hair, and all around him, plucking at his arms and legs, caressing his face.

Dry Christmas

So here I am, stuck in my jail cell on Christmas Eve, thinking :

Get me out. Get me out. Get me... out.

Lust, caution

L, in her usual fashion advocated caution. Remember the past; beware the crazies.

I'll admit I'm not usually terribly cautious about things; thinking back I realise it's because (ironically) I wanted to be happy; I wanted for those... strange, yet precious moments to revisit me. I chose to be precipitous in the past - everything is a gamble anyway, and with nothing left to lose, what harm can it do?

There is something amiss this time though; the colours are inverted, the polarities reversed. I bite back the words but once in a while they slip out...

words and thoughts that intimate that I miss her presence when we are apart - even when the parting is but for a ludicrously short while. That indicate a certain... distraction, and memories that burn to remember.

Changed

Until recently, I thought life was about making memories.

The memories I wish to carry with me are the good ones; I suppose this is termed having a selective memory.

I remember us at Chatuchak market; wandering through the puppies and the kittens, and being disturbed by the frightened squirrels; I remember eating in the little shop; but strangely the most vivid memory in my mind was of you sharing a green mango with me by the roadside; I suppose it embodied the best moments of you, and of us, in our relationship. You, sharing things with me, showing me things I didn't know, and taking joy from watching me, wide eyed in my sua-ku ness, enjoying things that gave you pleasure too.

I remember us in korea too, slipping on the ice as we walked late at night through the "snow", sharing moments of wonder with each other. And Coimbra, too, holding hands and walking slightly unsteadily uphill in the heat of the mid day sun after a refreshing roadside beer, and chancing upon a cat curled up on the wheel of an automobile, and laughing.

If I think back, I remember the others before as well; that's just the way it goes. We all have pasts, each and every one of us, and I want to take the best moments with me; I want for things to have meant something, because if I fixate on the worst moments all I'll feel is a lingering pain and sadness. I don't want to want to forget my memories, or to have to hide from other people.

I remember holding G close at the niagra falls, almost enveloping her with my jacket as the fine spray hit us from all around, as we shared the wonder of the lady in the mist, and the power of the niagra falls. I remember wandering along the top of it with her, and marvelling at the rainbow that hangs there, permanently, like some strange three D hologram.

And if I want to, I'll remember more -

- but something is different now; watching the assassin's eyes watching mine as we cup each others eyes with our hands, without need for words; sharing a moment of... almost childlike silliness...

life isn't about making memories anymore.

It's just about living the moment. And feeling happy when someone you care about smiles; even feeling happy, and just smiling of my own accord.

Life

I remember now why we didn't put labels to anything, why it was all very unspoken, why I called it the roller coaster.

I remember common, base feelings in the aftermath... regret. Confusion. Loss. Wondering what we had been, if anything at all - that eclipsed the memories of the moment, which were exhilirating... precious and special at the time, which should not have been corrupted in the aftermath, but were by my own dark nature.

This is the moment, now :

No desire to create boundaries with words; no need to. An almost-fear to... or a burning desire to... once mouthing the words silently against her neck, or blurting them out in the intensity of the moment, or hearing her, just the once, speaking my mind...

... there's no need : no need to think. No need to say. No need to understand, just to live.

No wish to spoil it all, by saying something stupid.

Too fast too furious

From xena :

So i was just at the supermk. The guy in front has problems w his pin. The cashier tells him : "Harder. Enter Harder."

Distracted, too

"It's so easy to spend time with you..."

"...It's so easy for me to spend time with you, and be happy."

*****
"It's strange, it's so easy to talk to you... sometimes thoughts complete themselves... but it's impossible to say certain things to you..."

"What kinds of things?"

"Things that mean too much"

Distracted

Uncharacteristically slightly incoherent for the assassin : sometimes... distracted at work, thoughts about... wondering what you're doing.

He : Yeah.

Unspoken : And I... if you only knew.

The First Day

Three indelible moments in time now, seared into my mind

*****
The First

She, half-turning in her front passenger seat to face me in the rear seat, her hair undone, streaming with wild abandon down over her shoulders, her eyes on mine.

Her eyes : filled with that strange, infinite, yet gentle sadness, somehow still encouraging, and forgiving.

*****
The Second

She, lying on the bed as I stood at the foot of it, gasping for breath, gasping, just gasping. All words exhausted now, all anger spent; all doors closed. There was nothing left to do, nothing left to say. Her brow furrowed in agony, her eyes on mine.

Her eyes : streaming, wet, filled with pain and darkness, and perhaps hatred, perhaps fear, perhaps other dark emotions I won't guess at, silently voicing what her lips were about to say.

*****
The Third

She, a dark, vaguely blue and grey striped silhouette in my car leaning forwards across the divide, her forehead on my sternum, my hands clasping the back of her head, clasping the hair bunched up at the back of her head, holding her forearm; feeling the droplets splattering one by one onto my forearm, left, then right, and feeling them turn cold as we sat in silence.

Her eyes : I couldn't even see her eyes. And yet the moment burnt in. How?.

Falling Stars

I remember the moment.

We were under the open sky; I seem to recall us standing just outside my bedroom door, and suddenly there it was; the first shooting star.

Look! we said, and we reached for each other's hands.

And as I clasped yours in mine, I thought to myself :

I wish this could last... for a little while longer.

*****
This is the kind of ramble that only happens late at night, perhaps only on select nights when you've stumbled upstairs hoping to catch a glimpse of something special, and come away unsurprised by a hatful of sky, and a skyful of clouds instead.

I was so young once.

There are so different many kinds of love. In my youth I knew I had blundered onto a powerful experience - and being the black and white thinker that I was, the logistician, I knew 1 - that was love, and 0 - other things were not. Perhaps I even judged the people around me by that same scale, if I did I was stupid for it.

Love comes in so many different flavours, I see it now, coupled with so many different ways of saying I love you.

There's a wondrous kind of love, the soundtrack of which might sound something like this :

I love you? I love you. I love you! I... love you? I love you!

It won't make any sense to anyone who hasn't walked that path; but it's a very young, very fragile, very childlike thing. Very simple, and perhaps in its own way, pure. I did it once, a world and countless timezones apart from a wonderful girl, and we shared a feeling that, in that point in time was special.

It melted away for me; it wasn't the kind of love that a cynic like me can maintain, or cherish and nurture, and in hindsight the dark side of me likes to laugh at myself - love? You didn't even begin to know the meaning!

But I don't think it melted away for her, in that she found it again, and so did her man, and I'm happy for them both now :) I think perhaps some people can hack that kind of thing, forever.

There's another kind of love, which is just words. I love you. Space fillers, the words spoken in comfort, in consolation, without any real feeling behind them.

I don't need to say much because we've pretty much all been there; I was there once, the second relationship of my life, stumbling through the darkness - I think it's how we learn - by making mistakes.... and for some people it's perhaps a mistake never to be learnt but to be lived by; for myself it's a mistake terrifying enough to run from, and never look back.

I can't live a lifetime by someone's side lying to myself, and to her. A lifetime... means too much to waste on lies; a lifetime better spent alone, in truth.

There're many other variants, I've lived quite a few - not because of any innate appeal to the opposite sex, but simply because I'm so old now... so, very, old. laugh. I've had a few chances, that and the fact that my relationships have by and large been short, dysfunctional affairs, and the concept of "long-term" to me is anything encountering the two year headstone, which is where everything usually falls apart.

There's a kind of I love you which is powerful, very, very dark and wrenching, very taiwanese soap opera; I laughed at Areya once upon a time (more fool me) and thought in my head : that's not love! as I watched her with her... taiwanese guy (laugh) and I saw how they brooded together.

And then I remember my hand on her (not areya. pfft!) cheek, sunlight streaming in the window as she slept, on her brow, my eyebrows creased wondering when the end would come, and knowing it would be so very soon; I remember silent I love yous while she slept, I remember the sense of loss even before the event; I remember knowing when she had betrayed me, before the fact; I remember after the fact and before the confrontation; I remember perhaps even knowing well beforehand that it would pan out this way.

I remember the tears slipping out against my will, the gentle sunlight forming a halo around her hair and face. The feel of your skin on my hand. The heaviness, and pain.

I could never hack that; I don't know what kind of psycho nutcase can, but taiwanese soap operas are enough to do a guy like me's head in.

And I can forgive, but I can't forget. I can in my weakness forgive so very much, but yes, she was right... things had changed. It's not that I would have made you remember... it's just that we were too different, you and I - I can't forget things by not talking about them, I can't un-make things by ignoring them. I can't let the world slide.

We were too different, she and I - she wrote "...I'd just tell him, I would really love for us to be friends again, a friendship with no hidden agenda, just two people who still ...enjoy the company of each other without the complications."

I would have loved that too, but to me friendship can only come to life with a mutual truth.

The "fuzzy friendship" thing that eluded her hinges on truth. Friends first, lovers second - friends who do not deceive. Even if the second follows on from the first rapidly, within weeks. And if it never does, then there's always friendship.

In the absence of truth, all that remains is lovers.. and I love yous that burn to remember, but fade with the breeze.

There's one more kind of ... I think it's love... but I'm really not certain anymore, and reluctant to put words to it.

It's that thing, that thing I knew once that I had pegged as the be all end all, that ridiculous roller coaster thing that in hindsight had been so obvious...

... only it's not. It's something that you mustn't put words to; it's something important that's just the moment, and it really doesn't matter anyway.

It's something that almost excludes the words "I love you" - not until you're very, very, extremely certain, because everything just means too much - This gleaned from a conversation with sasky...

And perhaps it never even reaches the words, perhaps it never reaches the stage... it doesn't really matter.

Perhaps it doesn't matter that there are no words that can capture it, none whatsoever, holding onto someone, or touching her face and looking at those eyes holding your own.

Perhaps there's a reason everything means too much to say things or make committments, and its a reason that's so simple it's selfish - because there's just too great a risk, too far to fall, to much to hurt if...

... and yet that doesn't matter either.

All that matters is now.

*****
I can imagine him, in mind's eye. Laugh.

Pointing at the sky with his stubby arm and saying, dramatically, And that's the Gemenids...

... and behind him cascades of stars beginning to crash through the canvas of sky...

*****
Meteor shower tonight! - ladygrey

I wish I could have been there, not here in the hospital, looking out at the clouds at three in the morning...

Cut and Break

And if I told you that I loved you
You'd maybe think there's something wrong
I'm not a man of too many faces
The mask I wear is one

*****
So hungry... forage for food...

... deja vu.

*****
For all the justifications
all the aspirations
for all the desires to be different

you walk the walk or talk the talk

I know the truth now
I wouldn't have settled.
I would have dreamt, and perhaps hoped

but at the core of this soul

We had that in common, You and I
We have that in common, YOu and I

call it what you may, commitment phobia...

... or a need to run.

You intimidate me.

Grey

*****
"My blog used to be called... A Need for Truth"

Moment

Her hands on his face, her eyes on his.

"You're interesting..."

"so are you"

*****
The phone rings.

"Do you need to get that?"

"No, it's a common phone for the whole house.'

"One ring to rule them all!"

Laugh

Squits

Thanks to some Bad Sushi, re-minisce is experiencing the mixed blessing of a restful day at home alternating between bed, toilet, piano, toilet and bed.

No prizes for guessing the nature of the ailment.

Thus far the Mother has forc... coerc.... encouraged re-minisce to sprawl on the sofa and listen to her playing (why is it everytime i want to play alone she appears...) all sorts of beautiful classical refrains.

I had the remarkable experience recently of conducting a matching scheme for my mummy-mismatched socks.

I now have a frightfully large collection of unpairable socks remaining. Perhaps the washing machine is a portal to another dimension...?

Heroes

The Cheerleader Regenerates.
Nathan Flies.

My Mum Mismatches Socks.

Sliding Scale

D : you were too nice to her, she took your niceness for granted...

I remembered her saying almost exactly the same thing : don't be too nice to me, or i'll take you for granted.

I believed it, for a while too : relationships are a sliding scale of giving and taking, tip the balance too far in one direction and everything begins to unravel.

It was my only source of sanity, of solace during my darkest hours - because I couldn't find any other reason. And I... wanted to bear the cross.

But the idealist in this cynic, who wants to believe that hope springs eternal, wants to think : maybe with a few people it isn't like that; maybe giving just comes naturally to a few, and maybe if two people who give by nature find each other, maybe, just maybe they create... a moment that lasts, and many gifts to remember.

Rabbit Rider

Every so often the Phoenix decides to exercise her "kitten" (that's a kitten?!?! more like a cheetah...) and leaves the Dragon struggling to catch up saddled on his little rabbit with its stubby little paws......

... it always makes him laugh.

Moment

I have many flaws... you're just not seeing them.

... I see them. Everybody is flawed; nobody is perfect.

*****
Uncanny. Words returning through time, echoes from the past.

No mask of perfection, but instead an admission of humanity.

lazy sunday morning, en route to the gym from the StanChart Finish Line



Too many calls...


Something funny in the men's change room...

Infinity Past

I remember this place.
I remember us holding each other close and shivering as the wind buffeted us.
I remember watching in wide-eyed wonder as the sky lightened around us.

I remember feeling that anything was possible, all paths were unwalked, but everything was right, right at that instant as we lay still, and shivered.

I remember this place - it is just a place, now.

*****
I put my soiled hands,
behind my back,
somewhere along the line,
i must have gone off track, with you.

*****
Falling in love is more than a feeling;
it's a decision to make, a sacrifice to take,
an admission of weaknesses,
and vulnerabilities confessed
relinquishing pride
forsaking lies
a time to be true,
a moment past concealing.

Unspoken

You have nice eyes, he said, his hands cupping her temples.

You must get that a lot...

Maybe, she said.

Unspoken : You have nice eyes... even when they're tired.

Aggressive marketing

(In mandarin)

Where did you get this done? The wizened old man asks holding up a re-shod sole, obvious distaste, bordering on contempt oozing off his voice and visage.

... Chinatown? (timidly) he replies.

uncomfortable pause.

... it's not very well done is it?

You said it, I didn't dare to say it. (literal)

I'll come back to you next time, thank you, thank you.

Gerbil

Cut it short, he said.

Shorter than this? Her eyes widened in incredulity.

It's meant to be a... surprise. It has to fit in this plastic bag.

We can do that, she said with a smile.

Tree Frog

And then as I sat holding her in her car, or perhaps she was holding me, and perhaps it was she breathing into my neck, or perhaps I into hers - presents were fading into pasts with the aging night, and it was late and we were so very tired - I knew.

I recognise the signs.

I know what it means when there always seems to be so much left to say to you and yet find myself so very incapable to expressing it, hear myself voicing mere fragments of the truths and thoughts I'd been meaning to share with you, to want to listen so much more than speak.

I know what it means to find myself gravitating unbidden towards you - not for the sake of it, nor because you asked, with or without words, nor because of intimacies we could potentially share... but simply because I'd like to see you again.

I know what it means to not dare to presume you think the same, even if your actions imply your thoughts.

*****
"Let me know if you'll need dinner tomorrow?"

Laugh.
"You know I do."

Scrubbed Text

From the blue.

"Can you remove my full name from your blog."

Silence, for a while.

"I don't have to, you know."

"I know."

"But if you want me to I will, because we loved each other once."

"Z, Why did you use my full name?"

"I don't know."
I guess I just always thought of you as your full name, I don't know why. I guess, somehow you were more than just a first-name to me, or perhaps you were just different, in my head.

And yes, of course I understand how important it is to you - now that everything stands on the brink, now that the Rest of your Life is beckoning.
But I don't understand what kind of foundations you can build forever on, if you have to protect him from the truth, from the heart of the matter.
If he loves you, he will accept all your truths, and all your previous untruths; he will teach you truth, and forgive your past.

The truth of the matter is that truth always finds its way to the surface, one way or the other. And discovery of an intentional absence of truth is a harsh, harsh thing.

I wish you well, truly, I do.

*****
I remember hugging your father hard, man to man, in silence, fighting back the bewilderment and pain in my eyes, trying to beat back the deafening cacophony of silence in my head, trying to smile.

Goodbye, uncle.

I remember as I sat alone in the pathetic, dingy little airport hard plastic seat, staring out into the night.

And then the message from your mother :

"In my heart, you are already my son."

*****
You must be a wise hunter, your mother said.

And as I passed her the red box with my last gift out of time to you, whom I knew once, I knew her for a good woman, and I knew she was right.

I must be a wise hunter.

I must hunt prey that are... right for me.

Just a dream

*****
Watching her gazing blankly at the countertop, occasionally glancing up with those oversized eyes into mine.

"And sometimes, you know, it feels like it never happened... all that time together..."

"I know." I know. I know...

"... I just knew that there was no way forwards except marriage..."

Deja vu.

"I knew that I couldn't do it for the rest of my life... the arguments which ended in his not calling me for days... until sometimes I'd cry. Towards the end I found myself pressing the auto-redial button on my phone, and going about the daily chores... checking on the phone now and again to see if it got through... just to make the effort, you know?"

"I know."

"And then the final time, he realised after a while that I wasn't calling back, and then he called me and was angry with me at first, and said I hurt him, and I thought all those times you made me cry... what, was it just to teach me a lesson?"

She looks up with those beautiful, liquid, sad eyes of hers.

"You're right, you couldn't have done that... it's the rest of every day of your life."

"But I miss him, you know?"

"How will you feel if he moves on?"

"Wah I tell you man, I'll cry...... I don't want to wake up one day, and you know, listening to you... Don't want to be like her, I don't want it to be too late, you know?"

"It won't be; it's totally different... I think you deserve someone who's better for you, someone who won't control your whereabouts, who won't expect you to stay home all the time doing housework, someone who'll give you space and make you happy."

"I want to be... me."

I am the Keymaster

un-surprised

Ah well, all the more soup for me.

ruelful laugh.

Equality

Equality to my mind has always been nothing more complicated, nor less simple than just two people.

Two people, sans the bells and whistles of the attendant circus of the rest of the world.

Two people who understand each other, who laugh together, who dream together, who walk, just walk together. Who are decent to each other, and good for each other. Who respect each other, yet make each other laugh. Who forgive, and are forgiven for their trespasses. Who may not think in perfect tandem, but are able to think together. Who share and communicate the truth, and are stronger for it together.

It's never had anything to do with power careers, with family status, with wealth or poverty, or even with perfect compatibility.

Perhaps in my youth I was extremely hung up on a more superficial equality, of thoughts, of minds, of humours, of wits, of communication.

It was because of Her, because we were similar - and I pegged equality as precisely that. Similarity; near clairvoyance, common language, common turns of phrase to the extent that thoughts need not be completed, that sentences could be read before they were spoken.

As I aged so too did my convictions - perhaps this is the vaunted maturity of years - and my convictions of steel, my black and whites melted into something... wiser.

And so it is that everytime I fall in love with someone - which happens rarely - I burn for equality, and it starts that way - it always feels like an equal. Because if it didn't, I know from experience now when to pull out and escape - Self preservation, and preservation of others.

My friends sometimes chide me after the fact for perceived "inequalities" or incompatibilities, but that's not the way it works at all.

The truth is, while I'm in it with someone else, equality is only about her and I. And only for her and I. Everyone else, family, friends, acquaintences.... well their opinions are important at some level of course, and it's important to hear them out. But really they really don't matter.

Equality only breaks down when either party in the relationship perceives it. Or when they prove it.

*****
"You two look good together."

A remark, from the blue.

Dashboard ornament

Aww a little stuffed toy dog...


and then it moves...


Carpark @ work

Dawn - Eyes rheumy and back aching, walking with leaden feet...


Dusk - Eyes aching, back rheumy, walking with leaden feet...

Fire in the Sky

Behind you, he said.

And for those brief minutes they sat in silence and watched the sky as it flickered, then flared to life, and faded into darkness.

It won't do it justice, she said as he drew his cameraphone from his pocket.

And sitting there across from her he knew she was right; some things simply cannot be captured on film; some things are best preserved in memory. Some memories will always be special come what may, that he was here with her under this blood red sky at all, and that through the span of that evening as she sparkled he drank, and drowned.

Harry Scary and the Goblet of Fairy

So re-minisce decides it's a lazy saturday afternoon, the shop floor's nearly empty, time for a nap...

... so the powers that be decide to admit the uber-man in white himself.

Whimper.

I like my head unbroken.

whimper.

*****
"Oh dear drinks might not be advisable but let me know if you need dinner delivered"

"You know i'd say yes just to get a chance to get foo... a chance to see you again."

Silver lining, or lightning? :)

Moment

"...the reason I'm crippled around you is because as long as you're talking and animating yourself with those eyes and being you, I just want to sit here and listen to you and watch your eyes, and I can't to do anything that might jeapordize the moment...

.... so shut up..."

and then he kissed her.

Whatever

Loving someone is never a mistake, if nothing else because it gives you a chance to learn something about yourself.

The only time you can truly regret having loved someone, truly regret having been involved with someone is if you learnt nothing, or if you lost more than you gained.

I've only regretted one relationship in my past, and it was a rebound thingie to some woman i remember as a nutjob. I don't regret my last relationship with you, I don't regret the sadness that I endured, for you.

If you want to live with the truth, then create truths you can live with.
The photos are out of my wallet now, as are the namecards.

But I won't ever forget, or regret the afternoon you offered me company, on my way to delifrance. I have good memories of us, and you.

Thanks for all the memories, and have a great life.

Irresistable attraction. To floor.

So I started the day by doing the usual effortless flop into chair routine and wound up on the ward floor on my back, with nurses making a beeline towards the source of the loud thump, only to walk away disgusted on discovering it wasn't a felled patient.

I do not. Fall. Over.

*****
LadyGrey : so I am your bad balance bear now?

mutter.

The Question

I misunderstood her then, and assumed she was speaking in terms of mice and men, much the way S, J's friend said it in her oxymoronic hot-mama cool-chick hongkong-triad motherly fashion (it's a stretch of imagination, but still workable, really...) - waah a doctor and a .... hen pei.
But I don't think that way; I just see people.

In hindsight I realise that I hadn't told Sara yet what she did...

Sara : ...So what does it feel like... to date an equal?

I think I understand her question now; not a question of worth and measures at all.

*****
"You have remarkable eyes" he says, looking away before he can catch himself.

What the hell?!
We know how it's done, we've never had trouble before : you look the girl square in the eye and you smile a little; it's that easy. It's an act, easy peasy. And what's a bit of play acting..

... remarkable? Graah.

What was that??

*****
And then the curtain falls -

"when i asked you if you were on the rebound, you said it had been 3 months...
but you see, i don't think i was necessarily referring to your last relationship..."

Not a seer?
With X-ray vision like that?.

graah.

Paralyzed

At some point during dinner while they're leaning in just a tad too close to each other as they speak, and his eyes are searching hers while they laugh, he realises why it's so... difficult... around her, and perhaps why it was so difficult back at fifteen as well.

As long as she's animating herself with those eyes, assaulting him with that wit... there is nothing he wants more, right then and there, than to just watch, and listen.

Hmm perhaps a blindfold might come in handy.

****
A girl who has dreams about saving the world, and dying.

How could anyone possibly resist that?

Fifteen

She's struggling with the cap on her illicit ta-paod coffee martini in a perrier bottle; he offers to help and reaches through the metal bars of the gate. Their fingers touch and remain in contact as he loosens the not-terribly-tight bottlecap.

Hands withdraw and he smiles a goodbye as he backpeddles, laughing silently in his head; the few words exchanged between two habitual wordsmiths simple, honest and spontaneous.

*****
"I forgot to tell you this last night but sometimes you make me feel like I am 15 again."

"Just great, we have a mutually retarding effect on each other. So much for all that university education eh?"

Unexpected

the measure of a woman

*****
"Unexpected like being mowed down by a three tonner while crossing a quiet residential street?"

Almost frightening, how he knew what the message would read, virtually word for word the second his phone chimed.

Different

(nervously) "I've been meaning to tell you for a while now... that you have very intelligent eyes. Just that it's kinda difficult to slip surreptitiously into everyday conversation...."

*****
Remembered from the past:
"You have pretty eyes..."
"Crazy eyes, crazy eyes!"
"I like your eyes..."

*****
(left unspoken)

Perhaps not the most flattering of compliments, but not so much a compliment as a simple statement of fact.
Pretty eyes... attractive eyes... engaging, expressive eyes that talk, and laugh when she's making others around her laugh, or running you into the ground - all true, but also completely missing the point, failing to capture the quintessential :

Quick, watchful eyes that miss little, (except walls, floors and other mundane physical barriers to gravity) eyes that dance with life, and bubble with mirth.

*****
Grappling to search out elusive words, that simply fail to do justice or refuse to be choked out when clearly conceptualized, regardless of effort.

Different.

*****
She : "How do you know you're not going through a rebound?"

He : "Well, it's been three months..."

She : "That's not very long at all."

He (with a smile) : "I've been through it before, I remember what it was like. I'm not."

Unspoken :
I remember the killing blow, delivered over the telephone as I forced it out of her -because the truth is so, so important.

I remember walking through the garden as she spoke, hands brushing the wetness on the leaves of the bougainvilleas, and looking up at the sky, and that full, full moon, and the sparse stars peppering the black canvas of the sky. I remember knowing in advance what was coming, that innate clairvoyance finally kicking in as I heard her speak, and heard instead everything Sara had been telling me about who she would turn out to be.

I remember bewilderment - the I love yous that still appeared on my phone mere days before; and suddenly there it was, the other guy who was always around her, the guy who irritated her for his childishness, the guy who angered her for trying to take liberties with her although she was with someone else.... there it was, we have to break up because he just tried to kiss me, and I did.

And then there was more, a single event turned into weeks, and perhaps months.

I remember walking dazed through life, almost as if the air around me had turned to treacle; hearing words pass me by, hands moving mechanically as i cleaned and draped, or closed wounds; my head an unending chorus of unanswerable questions. I remember how hard it was to relax, how tense, like a coiled spring about to explode I was.

I remember pervasive sadness, and above all that overwhelming sense of betrayal; and then a moment's madness - meeting another woman who sounded like her; someone to take away my sadness with something... familiar. I remember trying to tell myself I knew myself, I remember watching myself in mind's eye as we stood against the car and I looked at her without really seeing her. I remember everything happening too quickly, in accelerated time, that treacley feeling still all around me; awareness not quite regained; and then I remember when awareness returned and I found myself really looking at her, listening to her, and feeling trapped, unhappy, and wondering what the hell just happened...

I don't remember ever wondering if I would feel sadness as we parted, and I Remember the sweet, sweet relief that came at the end, even as she slapped me very deliberately, once to the left, and once to the right, and I raised my eyebrows in return and perhaps smiled in incredulity.

*****
And then I remember us unhappening; things were different. We both expected to feel relief - it wasn't something unexpected that happened overnight, rather something in the making for several months, something I'd tried to subtly and not so subtly shake you out of and failed repeatedly at; and when the moment came and passed there was no relief for either of us but only sadness.

I didn't become depersonalized and the world didn't slide by in bullet time; everything was real, and I didn't want the words in my head, didn't want to remember and hurt.

My salvation wasn't in the bottom of a glass, or in the eyes of a woman who reminded me of her; it began the night J introduced me to K; it began the night MM linked arms with me and we upended our champagne glasses an laughed.

It began with laughter, and friendship.

And it was so, so easy to relax, and to smile as K introduced me to his clutch of gorgeous handmaidens and I met eyes with them and laughed.

I didn't stop to hurt because I don't want to; I don't need to.

I need to laugh, and live for the moment - not for the past.

Intimidating

...you intimidate me, he says.

That's the second time this week that's happened, she says, looking puzzled.

Really? What did the other guy say? he asks with a smile.

*****
They're walking down the waterfront and then a little further along, past a memorial that has always been just a place to walk past, and past empty spaces that have never been anything more than space-fillers, shoulders lightly brushing each others', bumping hands from time to time. He's stunned to find himself struggling with words again, eloquence having fled him like a terrified puppy with its tail firmly between its hindlegs.

"You know how it is when you're fifteen, and you've met this amazing girl, and everything's really important and charged with significance, and everything's so hard to do and say... and then you get older, and it gets easier, and it's something you learn how to do, to pick up on signals and act on them, and you feel like you have nothing really left to lose, and so it's easy... ...What I'm trying to say is that... you make me feel fifteen again..." (!) (Ugh. What the hell, that's was so not what I was trying to say...)

A blank look. Errr... No?

Choke. Sputter. "No what I really mean is that I'm not in control when you're around." (Groan. Me stalker, me like porn! ...just kill me now, before I embarrass myself any further...)

*****
Several hours later, the play by play replay, in a different setting. Alcohol-fortified and by the light of the stars (and bar).

"Why I find you intimidating...

...... it's not that I can't read the signs, God knows I'm too old for that... and I'm most assuredly not gay... it's just...
..... I'm just not used to being at some restaurant with a girl watching her as she ... shines, and feeling this ridiculous urge in the absence of any signals, in full view of the public to want to...

... reach out"

he smiles a little, his eyes never leaving hers as his hand rises and lightly touches the curve of her face; she turns her head a little, into his palm and there's a trace of a smile on her lips. The she says oh! as he says : do you understand now, why you intimidate me?

And then the door opens and the men in black disembark, and the moment passes.

Animal Farm

Gotta love that Sheep of Doom and Tiger of Tidings

But what do I do with all these Rabbits of Wrath?

Broadside

Broadsided : Getting run down by a galleon under full sail while paddling in the shallows.

*****
... and as they ate, she sparkled - her eyes, her wit, her soul. And he was charmed, and seized by an inexplicable urge - sans signals, and inappropriate as it was - to just reach out and touch her brow. But instead, he smiled, and they laughed.

Avenue Q, take two

"I'm glad I met you."

And then the words dry up.

*****
Me give you... ten million dollars!

In volatile market, only stable investment is pornnnn!

If you were gay, I'd shout Hurray! ....

The internet is for porn... The internet is for porn... Why you think the net was born, porn, porn porn!

*****
Jst as enjoyable second time round as first; although Sasky would probably quibble about the precise details.

Oh yes, to anyone watching Ave Q from the Boxes : warning, beware of head injury. Hold onto handrail at all times. You may experience some... turbulence.

****
An unconscious, gradual, imperceptible sideways lean-in only realised with a certain startlement when their shoulders touched and remained in contact; a compelling desire to make and hold eye contact, to watch, to speak, to hear.

Significant, or insignificant. Does it matter?
Everything in life is only for now.

*****
I am the walrus,
fat bottomed girls,
yellow submarine...

this is not a mix-tape, it's... round.

Left unspoken : It's good to have met you, too.

Sound of Music

Remi-mum (creeps up on re-minisce while he's sprawled on the floor repairing the New Guy's laptop), from behind : I think you should get a girlfriend who plays the piano.

re-mi : gah?

remi-mum : you know, an insider. Not an outsider.

re-mi : I have NO IDEA what you're talking about

remi-mum : you know our family name is...

re-mi : yes you've told me before, court musician, blahblah. What does playing the piano have to do with a girlfriend! And I'm not a pianist! And you're not a pianist, you're a lawyer!

remi-mum (drawing herself up) : Excuse me, I'm a housewife!

re-mi : ......

*****
sometimes I worry for my mother.

Treading the line

"So why do you like to run?"

"I can zone out."

Perhaps that's just the way runners are. Perhaps it's nothing special, just something... in common.

I tell people I like to run because it gives me a buzz at the end of it.
But it's not always true. Most of the time I don't, especially when I've been out of it for a while.

The reason I like to run is the same reason I used to wander down the bank of the Thames in the evenings, all those years ago in the immediate aftermath of Her.

It helps me to not-think, for a while.

*****
Listening to some irritating random chick tell me the other day that I needed to take time to grieve (you think you know me? I feel like hacking your head off with my sabre, organic lemon my foot!)...

I told her No.

I do not NEED to take time to grieve.

I NEED to drink, after the ridiculous nightmare that work has become. I NEED to laugh. I NEED to RUN.

So why don't you take that lemon and stick it somewhere... organic.

*****
So this is what happens when you grieve.

The day comes and goes, and is forgotten.
Except something in the back of your mind lingers, and then sadness creeps in like a cat out from the cold, from the lower centers into conscious thought.

It doesn't go away. It doesn't get better with time.
The bewilderment, the... bad feelings.
The memories of how things were exhilarating, so exciting once, the thrill of discovery, of unexpectedness. The familiar sensation of contentment that accompanied us dying in bed in the afternoons. The contentment and...ease I felt, between us. The willingness to experience your world, and the forlorn wish that you would share that same willingness, for me to share mine with you.

The inability to reconcile the growing knowledge of what I must have been becoming to you. How un-special I must be, for you to... play that game. How little I must mean to you; unable to reconcile all this with the words and the actions you showed to my face, the I love yous, which were gradually dwindling, but still being spoken. Unable to reconcile the person I had fallen for, with the person who was falling down into darkness without her even realising it.

Self-doubt. Doubt in you. Doubt in us.

This is what happens when I grieve, alone in my car en route to the gym, eyes blurring as a dark tide rises.

This is where I stand now, on a fine line - where I knew I would be, one day, and where I struggled against you to try to prevent us reaching.

I just wanted to die in your arms.
I didn't want for this : to be surrounded by women attractive to me, and reaching this line, just beyond that last of the bridges linking us, if only a feeble email, as it burns away into faded obscurity.

I wanted us to be happy, again. A simple, futile wish; it takes two hands to clap.

All I NEED now is to run. And run, and run till my lungs are bursting, and my mind is... empty.

So, so bad.

And after that, to laugh, and then to drink.

*****
Just over two months; sometimes I still feel you in the car by me, sometimes I remember the stupid dances you did in the car to the radio, and it feels like only yesterday, and I could just reach out and touch you again, or drive home to you, away from the nightmare.

Sometimes it feels like something from another lifetime; something that was the nightmare, something to let slip into the realms of the forgotten. A forgotten story of not heroes and not villains, just two good people who werent good to each other. Something... unspecial.

*****
Watching Lady Grey's eyes laugh as she befuddles a stranger who is asking her about her chinese horoscopic sign.

I'm a phoenix! The prospective stranger does a double take. Well, okay... just a chicken.

Laugh.

Yes, the phoenix. Rising, from the ashes. The Lady... Grey.

*****
"I almost wish I did sweet nothings, but that's just not my style."

"Don't worry, you're not doing too badly."

Slightly cheesy, but kinda nice lines for a screenplay. Laugh. Must get back to writing that story someday.

Reasons

Sara asked me a question the other day... what does it feel like, to.....

... well to be sure i not sure that I am; but it feels... good. Effortless.

Easy to laugh.

Alive.

*****
There's a reason why I was sad last night; a reason why traffic is one way, why some paths cannot be retrod and why all the foresight in the world cannot prevent the future.

There's a reason why I don't do sweet nothings; I can, and I'm perfectly capable, but sometimes, I just... musn't.

There's a reason for fine, fine lines.

And that's the reason I was sad last night.

*****
There's a fine, fine line
between the present, and the past

A Fine Line

There's a fine, fine line
between together, and not

And there's a fine, fine line
between what you wanted, and what you got

....

There's a fine, fine line
between love, and a waste of time

Alcoholics Anonymous - 9 / 11

out-take

setting : the esplanade

focus on re-mi's mobile screen as the message to the assassin takes shape :
"will you be at klee later?"

finger presses send. pause. On screen : Message send failed - No network coverage

the theater is impervious to radiofrequency waves apparently.

at the intermission an hour later, an incoming message appears the second the doors open :
"from assassin : will you be at klee later?"

laugh.

******
Post musical drinks.

Re-mi found himself separated from his evening companion by dint of duty, each of us entertaining a complete stranger, as one does.

Her stranger was an interesting, reticent artist who looked suspiciously like the lead male from a taiwan serial involving gambling and casinos.

His stranger was probably a nice girl at heart....

probably...

weeell. "I appreciate the flavour of absinthe" does not cut it with re-minisce, who was tempted to ask her if she'd ever tried floor cleaner in that case.

Oh, and "excuse me, is that an organic lemon? I only take organic"...

howl.
Re-mi had to fight hard not to whip the lemon out of the stunned bartender's hand, rub it on the counter top a little, and hand it back to her. There. Organic enough for you now, luv?

The final straw.

"Bartender, this is a really lovely place, I love what you've done with it, now can you do me a favour, make me something that will blow my mind away." (flattery will get you everywhere...)

The third time she repeated it, re-mi looked her in the eye and said "how about a shotgun?"

*****
Honestly, you don't have to act special to be special. Just be yourself; there's bound to be someone out there who'll like you for who you are.

I think.

*****

Lady Grey opined that perhaps the stranger was pulling out all the stops to win re-mi's heart, by acting posh.

Well me no like posh spice. Me like wit and intelligence...

Avenue Q, 08 nov 08

The internet is for porn!

The internet is for porn, porn porn!

ahahahahahahahaha.

*****
There's a fine line

There's a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend;
There's a fine, fine line between reality and pretend;
And you never know 'til you reach the top if it was worth the uphill climb.

There's a fine, fine line between love
And a waste of time.
There's a fine, fine line between a fairy tale and a lie;
And there's a fine, fine line between "You're wonderful" and "Goodbye."

I guess if someone doesn't love you back it isn't such a crime,
But there's a fine, fine line between love
And a waste of your time.

And I don't have the time to waste on you anymore.
I don't think that you even know what you're looking for.
For my own sanity, I've got to close the door
And walk away...Oh...

There's a fine, fine line between together and not
And there's a fine, fine line between what you wanted and what you got.
You gotta go after the things you want while you're still in your prime...

There's a fine, fine line between love
And a waste of time.



*****
One of the girls commented that the song was so emo that she cried.

Dry

Broke out the laptop to use on the call, since I'm effectively a prisoner on my own ward for twenty four hours.

It still has that game we used to play, the two of us; mame-multiplayer, Strikers 1942.

Do you remember? At your old place; the two of us hitting the keyboard madly till our wrists and hands hurt, you constantly scolding me for stealing your power-ups and bombs. And then there was that time when we played on two different computers, but it just wasn't as fun.

I remember.

Sad.

*****
When Lady Grey made a generous offer in the morning to take-out consolatory drinks in the evening for the parched, peeved prisoner of hearts, I thought she was just playing....

...so when she messaged about five minutes ago to say the jealous owner was refusing to allow her take out...

... laugh. Amused? Bemused? ...Touched.

Oracle

The ex-ex asked me when I would settle down and get married.

I guess when I meet someone I want to marry, who wants to marry me too, I replied.

That's how it goes for everyone, no?

Shrug
*****
I watched her eyes as she spoke, as she inadvertently elicited memories of my own about other times, people and places, as she shared our memories.

And I saw in her what The Oracle saw, in all of the five minutes it had taken her.

The First Rule : Never disagree with The Oracle.

Thirsty as the Sahara

Reeling. Is what re-minisce is, from the onslaught of the new posting.
Five alternate day calls in a row, ten calls in a month. An intensive care unit run solely by non-intensivists who pride themselves on being Jack of All Trades.

Things could be worse. On the bright side, I get to tell people I break hearts for a living. (don't tell anyone that they were fixed before I broke them...) It's a step up from what Ken was introducing me as. Laugh.

Day Zero did not go down too well though.

Registrar : You're from Hong Kong right?

Re-minisce : ... !

Registrar : Just that you're damn ang moh lah.

Re-minisce : .

*****
Re-mum : When you eat something you must cover it up, because lizards and baby mice are everywhere!

Re-minisce : ...

*****
Two calls and three nights later, I'm about as flat as, and perhaps even thirstier than the Sahara.

Drinks with the Lady Grey in an hour; I can barely wait... =)

Speechless

Good grief.

Good money down the.. Ho.

*****

Darth Maul @ Klee

Ahahahahaha

Remi - 1 Secretaries - 0

The Assassin-wife was disconcertingly relaxed during dinner even as the warzone unfolded about us (inside joke; wouldn't rather have had anybody else as a companion cum sacrificial lamb on the paramedical battlefield than a member of the assassin's guild) and oddly enough, so was Re-minisce, even despite the presence of the Professor whose fire he had stolen the day before, garbed, disturbingly in leather jacket and reversed cap.

Perhaps it was how... bizarre everything was ("Gun and roses!" "Donna Daniels from australia!" "XXX Rock!") or perhaps it was the wife who was magnificently at ease with herself in the presence of... strangeness... and completely unaverse to leaning in and sliding that razor sharp wit between reminisce's ribs; but as the evening wore on and transformed from eccentric to way-out surreal (nurses whirling napkins with wild abandon!) re-minisce found himself... actually enjoying himself. Oblivious to the familiar yet unfamiliar dinner-companions around us. And laughing a great, great deal.

Nah, it must have been the coke...

Just before saturation point (shortly after Beat it, and Bring me Back to Life) re-mi and "wife" bid the ill-at-ease dinner companions goodbye, to move on to real food, real drinks, and a semblance of normality.

Perhaps one of the funniest moments to re-mi was lost on everybody else, as the oddly rhinocerean (think star wars bad-guy) compere was enthusiastically destroying everybody's eardrums from her perch on the stage.

T (lovely girl that she is) : Where do you work?

Compere : (shout shout grunt grunt, giggle)

Assassin : mumble mumble C

T : What?

Assassin : AGC!

T : Oh.... NDC!

Such a fall from grace, from predator to... nurse. Ahahaha. Ha. Cough.

*****
Lawgiver

Background story : some time in the not so distant past, re-minisce was dodging out of the way of a... playful nurse in OT when he inadvertently got trapped in the sliding OT door.

Instant subcutaneous / intramuscular haematoma, shrug, no biggie. Tis but a flesh wound. (think monty python and the quest for the holy grail.)

Today re-minisce's mum wanders unannounced into the room as always, and beholds her shirtless son on his computer.

re-mum : what's all that blood on your shoulder!

re-mi : just a bruise. grunt.

re-mum : how did you get it!!

re-mi : hit by door.

(can we predict the next line in this script? Something along the lines of oh my god its so big, or are you okay, or does it hurt? Some show of sympathy for the injured duckling?? Hah. Think again.)

re-mum : what kind of door was it!

re-mi : ... ...
(pause)
WHAT DOES IT MATTER WHAT KIND OF DOOR

re-mum : why are you getting angry with me!

re-mi : I'm NOT ANGRY. It's a crazy kind of question to ask!

re-mum : NO IT'S NOT, I'M A LAWYER (sigh. Ok I confess, she's a lawyer.) DON'T CALL YOUR MOTHER CRAZY!!!

re-mi : It makes as much sense as asking one of your friends after she got hit by a car what make of car it was!! Or what colour the handrail of the staircase grandma fell down and broke her hip on was!!

re-mum : It makes perfect sense!!!

argue argue. argue.

*****
When Re-mi was younger (perhaps five) he swore that he would never, ever. Ever on pain of death. Ever.

Never.

In case we're not very clear on this.

Never-ever.

Even think, of thinking of dating a lawyer.

Ever.

I mean they're morally ambiguous right? And they have as much humour in them as dead, gutted fish, right?

And no matter what, you can't win arguments with them; when logic fails they switch into overdrive, right? And arguing is... never fun, right???

Cough.

*****
She opined somewhat contemplatively that men were intimidated by women who weren't their social inferiors; the room murmured in assent.

Re-mi thought : That's just not true. Not all of us see in terms of mice and men. Not all of us see people as careers, or social platforms. Some of us just see people.

Some of us thrive on... humour. Reparte. Wit. Effortless ripostes...

Some of us gun for equality.

Then he said : ... not all men are like that.

...the room murmered in dissent.

Stealing Fire

During this last job I've committed two cardinal sins; faux pas like no other.

The first was when one of the big bosses asked me if my boots fitted well... and lo and behold I was indeed wearing his boots, into his own OT.

Sigh.

The second was this morning during the last Grandest, Biggest, attended-by-all-est ward round thingie of the firm.

The Professor Head of Department person was regaling us all with words of wisdom about how to discern people who want to blame their STDs on other people by asking them if they believed herpes is transmitted on toilet seat covers, when re-minisce thoughtlessly blurted out (and apparently quite loudly too) That's from House!

The Prof turns on re-minisce and looks sheepish and suddenly re-mi is imagining all sorts of unpleasant things happening to him in the span of a day, including iron maidens and torture racks.

Never, never. Never steal your Head of Deparment's thunder during his Grand, Grand Round...

Walker

Had drinks with an old friend and her hubby last night. It was good to see her again; some fragment of a past that almost feels like it no longer belongs to me; a time when things were simpler.

I was returning her some glasses (read : beer mugs) she'd passed me for safekeeping when she left the UK.

Somewhere in the pile I found a mug that my mum had apparently secreted away from me.

It looked naggingly familiar; took a little bit of thought to breach the barriers of time and senility, and then the suppressed memories returned and I remembered who had given it to me, as a birthday present, a lifetime ago.

The Other side - why do you need a reason? Gary Larson. Who else.

I'd never drunk from it before. Figured, what the hell; nothing really matters anymore, nothing. And so I did, for the first time in my life; a cup of 100% proof non-alcoholic tea at Klee, and it was sweet.

Turned the cup over idly as we talked, and realised I'd never really looked closely at it before as I read : product of New South Wales, Australia.

Always assumed it'd been bought for me while She was back here; never expected that it had once travelled the friendly skies with a personal medical escort.

*****
Seems Gmail is so intelligent it now tries to protect us from emotionally destabilizing emails.

Remember some years back they revealed their secret behind gmail's success - pigeonrank.

*****
...---...

And so, during the brief fifteen minutes that is my lunch break today I find myself walking out of hospital, just walking. I want to walk as far away as I can, just keep walking, and walking. And I need a double-shot whisky so, so bad. And I don't want to turn around ever. Can't let them see my eyes.

But the old man is in clinic, alone, and he needs the help. Fucking responsibility.

Duty calls, and I have to answer, as much as I feel like I can't.

Closest thing to a whisky, teh ahlia. Nothing alcoholic within range of the hospital at this hour anyway.

So here I am. This is me, drowning in the infinity queue.

*****
I remember messaging MM to ask what she made of a guy out alone having a drink on a friday evening, too devil may carish to bother seeking company; she made it fear of rejection; that actually made me laugh. But she doesn't understand, unsurprisingly since I haven't said anything vaguely revealing.

Well that moment's here again; I need a drink bad; I need to be alone.

Of the dead, From the dead

Distinguished mediocrity returns, angry no longer.

I can't help but remember my first, as well.

*****
I think she was in her late forties, although she looked to be in her sixties. She was very frail, but wise and kindly, and she had a sparkle in her eye.

She was in with us for a collection of pus in the space between her lung and her chest wall, which we call an empyema.

I remember my registrar bringing his not-so-wide-eyed (I've always had sleepy eyes) houseman through the catheter insertion to drain the empyema. My registrar was a great guy, shy, quiet middle eastern, immensely patient, goateed and mustachiod, looking a little like a dark-skinned, black-haired Santa Claus sans the big bellied laugh, if you can imagine it. She took the procedure like a trooper, laughing it off gaily after the deed was done.

My consultant was an incredibly good-looking and charismatic Scotsman with a very square jaw, who at 65 still infuriatingly turned the heads of all the women in the hospital. Women from the very young to the geriatric would swoon and wet themselves as he walked past, collar button undone and jacket jauntily slung over his shoulder. I remember hearing about him telling an emergency department nurse to take her top off, at a departmental rave/party thing in some club. I wasn't there to see it, but apparently she did, in front of everyone.

Shrug. Those were the days. Not quite clean, but good harmless fun.

Boss used to wander around on his round holding animated discussions about the Fooking NHS, and its Fooked up (blahblah).

Everybody loved him.

I don't remember her name now, but I remember that I broke the First Rule and became personally involved. She was kind, and sweet, and we would chat for ages - the life of a live-in houseman without a life... I had all the time in the world, and nowhere to go after work, and what the hell, all the other housemen were living in too. I didn't have anyone to rush off to, and the one girl (another doctor) I vaguely fancied who I would flirt with a little, and who would flirt back with me was living on site too. So, shrug.

I got her a book to read on the ward, because she was obviously getting bored; I remember her being happy to receive it. Sometimes she used to joke that I was so handsome, and I think I either used to joke that she was going blind, or senile.

The day it happened, I was pottering around the hospital; I think I was in the corridors walking back to my room, when one of the registrars called me; her name was Adeline I think. It's been a while. Adeline was BBC and oh-so-cool, and I always had rather neutral, bordering on bad vibes from her.

She told me that I had better go see my patient, although it was long after-hours and she had no right to.

I made my way with haste back up to the ward, and found her unconscious and gasping for breath. The ward nurse (a lovely middle aged woman who was... a friend, and who knew just-how Re-mi liked his tea made, sweet as sin and so thick you can stand your teaspoon up in it) wordlessly shoved the casenotes into my stunned hands, and I read...

She had dropped her blood pressure suddenly and become unresponsive, the cardiac arrest team led by Adeline was called, started iv fluids, blood pressure returned, and then they pretty much buggered off after calling the team houseman to come see his patient.

I put my finger on her pulse, and it stopped right there and then.

And then everything became a wild panic, as I started CPR, and my nurse began to bag her, and I shouted for someone to call the crash team back.

You just don't. You don't see a patient peri-arrest, and then leave her to die. I'll never forget the sheer hatred I felt then for Adeline.

The crash team returned and we tubed and got her back after half an hour, but after we called the Boss he decided that she had likely had a pulmonary embolism or some such, and that there was just no point going on. Pull the plug.

And then they were gone again, and it was just me standing over her corpse, feeling... defeated. broken. And saying a last prayer for her soul, putting my hand mechanically on her carotid to document - time of death, xx:xx. No pulse, no heart sounds, no breath sounds, no response to pain, pupils fixed and unreactive to light.

Goodbye, Mrs X

No Air

This is me, post-call at the gym running for my life. Running nowhere, going nowhere - no escape here from the madness of the world, but just a little piece of peace. Running from the thoughts and conversations and memories in my head, which circle endlessly and pointlessly, like wolves locked in combat; running from the realities of the world past, and present.

Running from the truth - that there is no reason; none at all, for the way things happen, happened, and will continue to happen.

Staring out at the skyline, looking at nothing in particular, hearing only the beat of the music, feeling only the beat of my feet and the music - the music - without a drink in my hand. (I understand now, vaya.)

Freewheeling.
Running, then sprinting until I have to stop, for air.

That's why I run -

all that I have

thirty minutes

*****
No new thoughts in my head, no catherses.

Time to stop running; reality check.

Nobody died for us. I guess I always knew the truth; I should have known the first time you said you weren't sure. We should have stopped, then and there. I should have walked away before it happened.

There wouldn't have been a need for... untruth.

The sharpest stick, the harshest knife. The most painful wound in my stupid mind.

Reality check.

I was in control.
The events that transpired, a consequence of my own fault.

I don't blame you, nor myself.
There's no reason for the world.

*****
Re-minisce, once synonymous with "A need for truth", now "from the ashes, to the ashes"

Once read by a large following, once the recipient of many strangers' comments and opinions.

Now read by a select few. No real change, still obstinately... seeking truth.

Anyone remember : Truth, love, courage. The way of the Avatar?

Tenets of a computer game from once upon a lifetime ago. Just a computer game.

Uncool, conservative beliefs fast tarnishing and fading in a broken, insane world.

I remember lying on the couch with Grace as the world fell down around me, with my head in her lap as she stroked my hair, just breathing, just breathing; taking shelter for a while from the fucked up state of the hospital, the country, the world.

And then there was you, thinking about coming home to die in slumber as I drove home after a long day's work, and then after, the promise of dinner, or television, and just peace.

Shelter from the world; a moment's quiet, without thought.

These fragile homes we built, that gave us roofs over our heads from the evil and darkness around us; then the walls came crumbling down, as reality crept into our worlds.

I'm still me.
I still burn for truth.
I still dream of peace, someday shelter - but not in someone; my mistake twice now.

When the time comes I will flee the insanity of this place, the insiduous madness that creeps into your soul, a day at a time.

Flee back to a place where the darkness is tangible, and easy to see; easy for me to keep at bay. Easy for me, alone, on my own to keep out of my soul.

I remember a place like that once, from a lifetime ago.

I remember being stalked as I walked home late at night, the hands in the jackets, the quickening footsteps, and then just as it sank in and I tensed to run, the police-car that drove by, and the sudden change in direction of my pursuers.

Easy then, black and white.

I remember you, though not your name - the blonde who asked outrageous questions in front of our patients about oriental pubic hair, who sat in my lap in the rest room to make me squirm, I remember us both slightly drunk, the pounding music, drawing closer to talk, till our foreheads touched and our noses brushed, and we smiled; I knew the moment, I knew the script.

I knew that I did not feel, and that this was not for me.

I pulled away.

I remember you, the pretty student nurse on my ward with that sharp, sassy tongue, and I remember the seven other faceless students forcing us both to dance; I knew what it meant; and so we danced, and then I left.

Easy then to just laugh, to enjoy oneself, to know when to turn away.

*****
Let us hypothesize, for a moment, theorize, conjecture, postulate.

Let's sit down like gentleman, civilly, clinically, coldly, detachedly over a cup of tea shall we? You can be the mad hatter, and I'll be the white rabbit.

*****

A young lady is brought into our imaginary emergency department. We document : lives alone. accompanied by her mother.

All stories start at the beginning ; we note a history of vomiting brownish fluids for five days with giddiness and poor oral intake. We note that she is uncooperative and does not respond to questions.

We elicit a story of a ?thyroid problem diagnosed on health screening just over a weekago, initially treated with a medication which was stopped.

The media, oddly has a different story, of an acute severe headache, of a sudden collapse at work. ("fainting") Things suggestive of an acute problem resulting in immediate confusion. Odd.

Our nurses document a pain score of five to six - only in the moderate range, not severe. One wonders how difficult it must be to elicit an objective pain score from a confused patient.

It slips our minds to write down where the pain is of - the head? the abdomen? Everywhere paining?

The media writes that it is difficult for the girl to keep her eyes open. The clinical record makes no mention of this. Would it have made a difference? Perhaps not. Or perhaps a bright spark might have called this "photophobia". Who knows?

On physical examination, she is uncooperative, not responding, lying hunched over on her side, vomiting brown fluid and salivating.

She is not febrile 36.8 degrees, but hypertensive (170/70), she is borderline tachycardic with a HR of 97. Her saturations on room air are normal and she is not tachypnoeic.

She is deemed fairly hydrated (we write down that her hands are dry... it must be pertinent, somehow. must be.)

We elicit bilaterally reactive 2mm pupils, and equal limb movements on all sides, but oddly make no effort to perform a Glasgow Coma Scale (? are her eyes open? E4? or only to noise? E3? Perhaps not at all? E1? She doesn't respond to questions... is she V1? She is uncooperative - is she M1? or M5? Let's be generous, let's call her an E4, V2 M5. 11/15... in short, a rather ill young lady.)

Her lungs are clear.
Her abdomen is soft and non tender and digital rectal examination is normal.

Her capillary blood sugar is 8, and ECG shows sinus tachycardia

We send and await bloods, thyroid function tests are severely deranged :

TSH is < 0.05, total T4 is 99 - absurdedly high.

The rest of the bloods show only a mild neutrophilia and total whites of 11. Electrolytes are normal, liver function tests are acceptable, and a urine pregnancy test is negative.
Chest X ray is normal.

The diagnosis becomes evident - severe thyrotoxicosis. Relief all around; till this moment we have no idea what we're dealing with.

The GP who saw her a week ago was correct, something is wrong with her thyroid, and the numbers and her clinical picture, with obvious confusion tell us a story of
something being very, very wrong.

We correctly realise we are out of our depths - this condition is rare, the stuff that only textbooks remember; we consult a senior opinion out of concern - this may be thyroid storm, this may be something that can kill. Perhaps worthy of an intensive care bed.

The senior opinion, as is often the case, does not tell us what they think this is, but what to do : put her on the general ward, in a bed next to the nursing station.

If we take the time to risk stratify her, she falls in the category of "impending thyroid storm". It is a brave, but perhaps arguably reasonable decision to place her on the general ward; treatment is correctly started for thyrotoxicosis. Propranolol (for a fast heart rate) and propiothiouracil, to knock back the hyperthyroidism. IV hydrocortisone and iv fluids.

Blood tests will later confirm that she has Grave's disease - TSH receptor antibodies return positive. Autoimmunity at its worst.

The ward staff document that she stays alone, and has shifted out from her parental home for some time now. She is an ex smoker with no known history of recreational drug use. They note that she looks depressed and non-communicative.

She seems depressed and non-communicative, and she is again uncooperative - we can only assume they refer to her depressed level of awareness of the world around her; people who don't communicate much may seem depressed. Or perhaps their sensoriums are just clouded by the toxins running through their blood. She is normotensive and mildly tachycardic 108 on the ward.

She is seen by an intensivist and treatment continued.

She abruptly becomes unresponsive and starts foaming at the mouth in the middle of the night. ECG shows asystole. The impression then is of pulmonary oedema. She is intubated, and CPR commenced, but the resusc team fails to revive her, despite what is most likely very good quality CPR for an acceptable duration.

No air.

A bedtime story for doctors that nightmares are made of; this didn't happen of course.

The show stopper : autopsy reveals some form of intracranial haemorrhage.

And now for the intellectual discussion :

Would you have scanned her?

There was no definite indication to; blood tests pointed clearly towards a diagnosis of thyroid storm.

Ah, you say, but doctors should not be ruled by blood tests, but by clinical intuition.

Her poor GCS (which was not apparently documented) could have been attributed to severe thyrotoxicosis.

It is forgivable to have not scanned her. Consensus medical opinion will conclude this, in a court of law. Online reports of similar cases note "CT brain may be done if the diagnosis is in doubt". We argue that the diagnosis was not in doubt.

But on the balance of things, a young twenty six year old girl now lies dead and her family, shattered. Perhaps there were concurrent pathologies, who can say.

Would you have scanned her, even if it was "bad medicine"?

Who knows. Perhaps a clearly documented falling GCS despite treatment would have prompted a scan. Who knows. Perhaps a clearly documented neurological examination would have prompted a scan. Who knows. Perhaps not, perhaps the GCS would simply have fluctuated, or perhaps the neuro exam would have been unhelpful or equivocal.
Perhaps the GCS was charted, we just failed to ascertain that.

What is concrete remain the grossly abnormal TSH and free T4.

Would you have put her on an intensive care unit, or perhaps a high dependency unit for close monitoring?

Who can say, perhaps there were no beds available, perhaps impending thyroid storm can be less drastically managed - these are the mysterious realms of specialist endocrinologists.

Why was the media's story so different from the official record?

Perhaps, if we were to go out on a limb we might postulate thyroid storm in a hyperthyroid patient precipitated by an acute-onset intracranial haemorrhage - who can tell?

What is real is that this hypothetical young woman will fade from hypothetical memory tomorrow, and that there will be no take home message for anyone.

What is real is that this truth will be lost with time.

What is real is that this imaginary girl's family will be made - unjustly - to feel guilty that they omitted to mention her minor head injury (walked into a glass door, didnt suffer any symptoms whatsoever) a month before - what is sad is that the media, which has, since this is fiction, done a godawful job of presenting facts, but instead garnered data from sources likely emotional and unreliable - distraught relatives : will have nailed the diagnosis on this imaginary girl's coffin. A bleed in the brain secondary to trivial head injury.

Just an unfortunate turn of events, sometimes there's just... no reason.

An imaginary bedtime story to amuse ourselves with, a piece of fiction from an idle mind.

There is no grain of truth here, there are only academic questions.

Lamb for the slaughter

it's not everyday that lambs fall from the sky, and then voluntarily profer themselves up to be served as the main course...

and so re-minisce finds himself bemused to have unexpectedly acquired a potential "surrogate wife" for the hospital dinner and dance.

Two reasons for the bemusement :

One - The "recruit" isn't one of the old "regulars", only persuaded after much wailing and pleading and promises of free drinks for a lifetime... but an extremely new friend, who...

Two - ... volunteered , and was not enlisted, or for that matter, even solicited.


Truly, compassion is a wonderous thing.

Salvation lies in the bottom of a cocktail glass

I needed a place to change out of uniform.
It was on my way home.
I need a drink.

Some random girl told me I was taking an awfully long time to finish my drink as I nursed it morosely in my hand, a million miles away in my head, replaying nothing in particular over and over again.

Nothing makes sense right now.

Yes, I recognise the signs.

*****
that's just the way it is (and so it is / just like you said it would be)

no calling for help, no miraculous ess oh ess rescue mes; no portals to the past, no raging against the machine.

life goes on.

Someone wise told me this : breathe, just breathe; be still, remember you.

I'll hand down to you those same words she gave me : perhaps you'll make a better job of it than I did.

my salvation lies in a glass.

En Passant

When death strikes prematurely it always comes as a shock.

Our first instinct is invariably disbelief, then perhaps, variably anger, denial, regret, remorse. Guilt.

Kubler Ross described the bereavement reaction at length. I personally think it's all rubbish, with a bit of truth mixed in. It all depends on our relationship with the person, and on how we interacted with them, if at all.

******************************
I remember my best friend from primary school, Junlong.

He had a large head and very short hair, and he wore spectacles. He had a kindly face. I think we were classmates from primary two to three. I changed class each year, so that must mean he promoted up with me.

The last words I spoke to him were, if memory serves me correctly, "don't worry, I'll never get in" (wrt some stupid IQ test thingie that resulted in me being snatched out of my school and unceremoniously implanted into another)

I met him again three years later, our mothers were both walking us, somewhere near farrer road. We waved at each other and smiled.

I read his obituary in the papers a few days later. And then I read the front page article about how he got mowed down by a bus, crossing out from behind a waiting taxi into traffic.

I was very young, and at the time not quite in touch with anything vaguely resembling emotions. And yet I knew I had to attend his funeral; it was only proper.

The mother refused to let me go; I was too young and had to be protected from these kinds of things.

And that was the end of that.

In her mind, anyway.

Guilt.
*******************************************

My neighbours daughter died when she was in her teens; she was a national gymnast, and really quite pretty.

I didn't know her very well, save what I read in the newspapers about her once in a blue moon, and from our brief interactions in her mums garden when the mothers would get together to enthuse about roses, and leave the two teenagers planted neglected in the flowerbeds.

We used to shyly roll our eyes in exasperation at each other, at our uncool mothers.

She was struck down by leukaemia - or rather, by overwhelming sepsis post bone marrow transplant. I have vague recollections of the organism in question being Epstein Barr.

The word amongst the doctors was that she was nearly at her window period, beyond which her immune system would have been expected to protect her against infection again.

These days, I'm a little older and know that the window period is arbitrary; it was just one of those things; bad luck, bad timing, and perhaps a stolen kiss.

Depression

**********************************************
From : The Electronic New Paper

'HEARTLAND HOTTIE' DIES IN SLEEP FROM BLEEDING IN BRAIN
No symptoms for 1 month after she hits head
By Elysa Chen

October 19, 2008

THAT self-assured smile, that slight tilt of the head captivated The New Paper's photographer Gavin Foo so much he snapped her picture.

And when it appeared in the 'Heartland Hottie' series in The New Paper on Sunday in March last year, it was, for Miss Sai Fengmin, one of the happiest moments in her 26 years of life.

Now, that smile, frozen in a photograph, is all that's left for her mother.

Holding up the picture, a teary Mrs Sai asked: 'Isn't my daughter pretty? She was so proud and happy that she was spotted for your Heartland Hotties section.'

Miss Sai died in her sleep on Thursday.

It was a shocking end to an inexplicable turn of events that began a month earlier, when she knocked her head against a glass door.

The marketing executive was visiting a friend at her new home when she knocked into a glass panel between the kitchen and the living room.

She didn't know then, but that seemingly innocuous bump may have resulted in an undetected brain injury that led to her death a month later.

There were few tell-tale signs that it was anything serious. No nausea or giddiness - common symptoms of a concussion - within the first two weeks.

But on Wednesday, four weeks after the accident, Miss Sai had a headache and fainted at work.

She was then admitted to Alexandra Hospital, where she died in her sleep early the next morning.

An autopsy showed she had died of an acute brain haemorrhage.

Describing her daughter as the 'most special' of her five children, Mrs Sai said: 'When my colleagues at work see the picture of my children at my desk, they would keep talking about how pretty and special my Min Min was.'

Mrs Sai declined to give her full name or her occupation.

The first sign that all was not well came at 10am on Wednesday morning when Miss Sai fainted at work.

Mrs Sai, who got a call from her daughter's colleagues, rushed to the office.

'My daughter kept saying she felt very giddy and wanted to sleep. She also kept vomiting something chocolate-coloured,' she said.

Mrs Sai called for an ambulance and rushed her daughter to Alexandra Hospital within 20 minutes.

Complained of pain

At the accident and emergency ward, Miss Sai kept thrashing around on the bed and complained of pain.

Mrs Sai said: 'She was still strong but she just didn't seem to be able to open her eyes.'

She had been told she had a thyroid problem by a GP a week earlier.

At the hospital, Miss Sai was kept under observation. But her symptoms had nothing to do with the thyroid problem, said Mrs Sai.

And no one told the doctors about the knock on the head.

She said: 'We were so focused on the thyroid problem that we forgot that it could have been because she had hit her head one month ago.'

Miss Sai had gone to a polyclinic the day after she hit her head. She was told to monitor her condition for two weeks and was given medical leave for one day.

Mrs Sai said the doctor told her that if she did not experience nausea or giddiness after two weeks, she should be fine.

She was due back at the polyclinic for her follow-up two weeks after the knock, but decided see a private doctor instead because she did not want to wait in the long queue.

It was then that the general practitioner found out that she had a thyroid problem.

Mrs Sai said: 'If they had not done an autopsy, I would still be telling everyone that she died of a thyroid problem.

'I can't believe that she was still joking about how the glass didn't break after she knocked into it.'

Mrs Sai had stayed with her daughter until 11pm on Wednesday.

At 3am on Thursday, the hospital called Miss Sai's family, informing them that she was experiencing breathing difficulties. Her family rushed to the hospital, but it was too late.

Her father, whose eyes were red from crying, said: 'We didn't even get to say goodbye to her.'

He was too distraught to continue.

According to a friend, she was his favourite daughter. He later said in Mandarin: 'She was a filial daughter, but she was often too shy to express it. She hid her love for us inside.'

Added Mrs Sai: 'She contributed to the household expenses and, as the oldest child, she voluntarily moved out of our four-room flat so that her brother and three sisters could have more space.

'She was so independent. She often travelled overseas on her own.'

Miss Sai, who rented an apartment with friends at Normanton Park in Alexandra, would visit her family at their Telok Blangah flat on weekends.

Mrs Sai said her daughter, an Arts graduate from the National University of Singapore, was a bright student who never needed tuition.

She had earlier attended Anglo-Chinese Junior College and Raffles Girls' School.

Describing her daughter as someone who treasured friendships, Mrs Sai said: 'I hope to hear from her friends. I want to hear about how she brought happiness to them and how she was always there for them.'

Holding up a souvenir showing the word 'bye' framed by a photocopy of Miss Sai's hand that she had made for colleagues as a farewell gesture when she left her former job, her paternal aunt, who wanted to be known only as Mrs Teo, said:

'She was such a creative girl, with such a bright future. We are going to miss her.'



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SUDDEN DEATH

LATE SEPT

Miss Sai knocks head against glass panel at friend's house. The next day, she sees a doctor and gets medical leave for a day.

6 OCT

She is diagnosed with thyroid problem at GP clinic.

15 OCT

10am: She has headache and faints at work. Reaches hospital at noon.

15 OCT

4pm: She is admitted to a B2 ward, then moved to B1 ward at 11pm after her mother asks for upgrade.

16 OCT

3am: Hospital calls family. They arrive at 3.30am, but Miss Sai is already dead.



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SYMPTOMS

1 A sudden, severe headache worse than anything you have ever had in your life. That's a sign that a knock on the head may be more serious than you think, said neurosurgeon Alvin Hong.

2 Loss of consciousness.

3 Weakness or persistent numbness afterwards, or drowsiness.

4 Neck stiffness, which may be due to an aneurysm - a fluid-filled bulge in the wall of an artery - rupturing.

5 Persistent giddiness and vomiting, especially if accompanied by a very severe headache

**************************************************

I never knew Miss Sai Fengmin, but she was a friend of a friend.

Sometimes I really hate the way the media sensationalizes everything with what little knowledge that they have - while revealing the truth, quite by accident.

Sudden, severe (? "thunderclap" ?? )headache - in extremis.
Loss of consciousness.
Giddiness, lethargy.
Nausea and vomiting.
Photophobia.

I really don't think that the family should have been made to feel guilty about omitting to mention the minor head trauma a month ago.

I don't have all the facts here.

But ask any medical student to put the signs together, as written in the newspaper.

Any student.

It's pass-fail viva stuff. And then ask them what must be done next.

And then all sorts of questions begin to spring up, which I shan't alude to. I know what happens to people like me, who even begin to write what I've written.

Troubled

More Troubled
*******